


Red String

by scottandstiless



Series: I Miss You [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, BAMF Malia, BAMF Stiles, Death of Noah Stilinski, Depressed Stiles, Depression, Derek Saves Stiles, Derek goes after Malia's mom, F/F, F/M, Hospital, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Malia goes after the Desert Wolf, Melissa loves Argent, Mentions of Suicide, Orphan Stiles, Panic Attacks, Part 2 of the series, Provoking Thoughts, Sad, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sheriff Stilinski is dead, Stiles can't handle this, Stiles lives with the McCalls, Stiles loves Lydia, Stiles-centric, Void Stiles, lydia saves stiles, mentions of self harm, sensitive, sick, somewhat canon, trigger warning, whump!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottandstiless/pseuds/scottandstiless
Summary: the aftermath of Sheriff Stilinski'a death leaves Stiles in a pit of despair. He doesn't know what to do with his life anymore now that he'll forever feel guilt for somethat that it was his fault. But in these sad times, he finds a friend in someone who would've never given him a second thought. Let's throw in some McCall family angst and sad Stiles and a lovey-dovey Lydia and we've got a season plot arc. This is the sequel to Bullet Holes & Void Souls.





	1. Hit Me

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is what SO MANY have been waiting for. The sequel to Bullet Holes and Void Souls. I suppose you could read this without reading that lengthy fic, so if you didn't, just read on as is and you'll get a hang of it. So I hope you enjoy this very first chapter, and I'll update this week sometime :-) 
> 
> \---  
> Disclaimer: I own none of the plot, characters, or any aspect or rights to the show Teen Wolf.  
> \--  
> Excuse my awful English.

Do you know what death is. Do you know how it feels, how the world around you shakes and goes white and then all of a sudden you aren't you and-  
 _everythingfuckingstops_ and time doesn't stop because it never does, and the world keeps on spinning and the leaves keep on changing because death- it's part of life. As much as you don't want it to be. Stiles never thought it would end like this. He never thought he would've lost his mom and dad. 

Stiles was only 7 when he witnessed his own mother die.

"Mum, today in school we were learning about how.. How.." Stiles fidgeted in his seat by the hospital bed. Once again he had gotten so distracted he couldn't finish his own thought. The air smelled lewd and like ammonia, it made him get a headache. It was the small of "clean" he called it, in which he referred to as bleach. 

"Stiles honey-" his mother said weakly, the sad creases folding into her skin in exhaustion. 

"Did you know that dinosaurs could have lived right where our house was?!" His big glassy eyes widened with an excited expression as he switched topics. Stiles swung his legs in the chair as he looked up to his mother lovingly. Claudia tried to smile back- but she just couldn't do it.

"Stiles please baby-" the woman weakly proclaimed. Her head was pounding when she decided to suddenly close her eyes and drift into a deep sleep that she'd never wake up from. Alarms started going off, machines blared, the long beeping followed by a line that was shown in movies just became Stiles' real life. 

"Mommy!" Stiles became frightened, his hair swooping back and forth as he scattered up onto the bed, trying to desperately wake his mother up. "Mom _wakeupwakeupwakeup!_ " Doctors swooned into the room, prying the small child off her body. Tears started to pour and the volume in the room increased. Stiles felt himself burst into tears, screaming yelling as they pulled him off. Stiles didn't know what was going on, suddenly he was on the floor balling his eyes out. It was too much emotion for a small seven year old, too much for his heart as it beat rapidly and almost out of his chest. 

"What's happen'ng! Mommy!" Stiles screamed, crying to Nurse McCall who had held him tightly and taken him out of the room. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't- anything. The small boy passed out, his head lolling against her shoulder as she tried to comfort him.

Claudia Stilinski had died. 

And now? 

Now, it's been three days.

It's been three days since he died. Three days and 4 hours. Stiles kept track. 

Stiles has never cried enough in his life apparently until that day. He's never felt so violated, and so- empty? Is that the word? Even in his nogitsune days, things were better then than now. And it was all his fault. At least that's what he thought. If he just stayed that night at his friends, his car would've never broken down, he would have never been held hostage. He would have never turned into Void. He would have never seen his dad be brutally murdered in front of his eyes. Pounds of tears, and hours of panting for breath and crying and screaming passed. Everyone did what they could, it just.. wasn't enough this time. Nothing in the world ever goes right for Stiles Stilinski, just shy of turning 18, now declared an orphan. 

And everything's crashing down at the moment. The bank's claimed the house, they are taking it in four days, by the end of the week, just enough time for Stiles to pack. He hasn't even thought about it. He hasn't been sleeping, mainly just crashing on Scott's couch for an entire 20 hours. It's been hell- oh yes. They tried helping him- talking to him, nothing worked. He cut off from all means of communications. Stiles lost the most important man in his life, he lost his first best friend. And he sure as hell didn't want to think about it, let alone reenact it, and didn't want to think about going back to the house. He missed his dad too much. And tomorrow afternoon would be the funeral.

But now three days have passed. And somehow, in the middle of the night, the midst of the darkness, they were in an empty parking lot. Stiles and Derek were by themselves, were outside of the Camaro. The alpha werewolf had literally dragged him out by his hands. But Derek needed to do it, he needed to get Stiles' head back in the game. He knew what he had to do, he lost his entire family at once. Derek knew of the pain, and that's why he's such a sour wolf- it's all the anger and sadness from the years that have permanently settled because no one cared. No one cared enough to talk to him about it. He wasn't gonna let Stiles turn out like him. Cold, and pessimistic. 

"Hit me." Derek said.

"W-what?" Stiles whispered softly. He didn't have an ounce of energy left in him.

"Hit me." He repeated, a blank look on his face.

"Derek." Stiles didn't want to joke around.

"Hit me. Come on." Derek taunted. 

"I'm not going to do that."

"Hit me Stiles. Do it. Let it go. Let it all go." Derek demanded. What Stiles needed to do was to let all of his feelings out, all the rage and madness out.

Stiles looked down at his hands, he was cold and freezing, and it had started to drizzle. His fingers had curled into a fist, licking his lips and trying to resist not actually hitting him.

_"Stiles! Hit me!"_

Stiles suddenly let go of the entire world, blocking out the pitter-pattering of the rain, and the weeping sobs in his brain and took his fist to Derek's chest forcefully. He did it once and stopped.

Derek looked at him. He knew he could take his blows. The punches- no matter how hard weren't going to physically hurt him, so he encouraged him on. "Again."

Stiles drew his fist down again, smacking it harder against his rained on shirt.

"Again."

Another blow, this one harder then the last, and faster.

"Again Stiles."

It was at this point where Stiles just lost it, banging his knuckles against the werewolf's chest repeatedly, again and again, each one coming faster after the other. Stiles' body shook in the rain, the water sputtering as it made contact in between his hand and the werewolf. Again and again, Stiles punched, luckily without hurting Derek. Derek took them in until Stiles started to pant hard, exasperated and grunting with each motion. Derek could see the rage and pain fueling in his eyes, he knew what was going on in his mind. The alpha could basically feel his heart beating, and he smelled strongly of grief, it was quite pungent. The boy's feet shuffled underneath him, strands of hair flopping down and the gasps and grunts for air started to become vey noticeable, throwing punches faster and faster until he couldn't breathe. He punched away at him like a rag doll, but soon those grunts became yells and curses, "god dammit!" 

Stiles forcefully pulled away, backing up two steps from Derek, inhaling vigorously as he stared at his trembling hands.

"Stiles-" Derek got close, trying to reassure him from his panic. "No, no, it's okay- it's okay."

Stiles tried to breathe- he really did. The adrenaline was flowing in his system, and it felt so damn good to get that out, but now here he is, feeling like he's suffocating himself. Stiles slowed down his oxygen intake, the color red taking over his face. He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge of tears gush from his eyes and Stiles started to cry uncontrollably. The teen held his hands behind his head, trying to get fresh air within all the rain, but he pulled in his elbows and held his head in frustration. Derek didn't know what to say, what to do, but he came in closer to Stiles, embracing him tightly as his head bobbed onto his shoulders. Derek held onto his body tightly, for the fear that he would slip away was too great. 

He eventually stopped, becoming exhausted from the hysteria, and agreed to Derek taking him back to the McCalls. Derek helped him into the car, wrapping him in a blanket he had in the backseat to make sure he wasn't cold. And on what was a silent car ride home, Stiles realized what Derek did for him.

"Thank you." He managed to rasp out.

No one said a thing that night. When they entered the McCall home they were welcomed with concerned faces, Scott and Melissa were discussing matters at the dining table. Stiles put down his coat, ignoring both of them and heading to the guest room where he'd been hiding away for a week. 

"Stiles-" Scott fought.

"Scott." Melissa gently spoke, "give him some space."

Stiles plopped down on the bed he had been so loving of. His hair was wet, so was his sweatshirt and pants. But he didn't care- no, all he wanted was to close his eyes and never wake up again. Thoughts roamed in his head. Nobody had tried to console him, nobody tried keeping up a conversation with him. He didn't care, he liked it better that way. That's just what he thought however. Everyone _did_ try to help him. The boy just pushed them away. Stiles forced his eyes closed, thinking of the last week. All he's been doing is laying in bed, crying, and even now he could feel tears well up in his eyes. Damn. It didn't hurt this bad, why is it hurting this bad? He hasn't even started thinking about the house. Hell, he's gonna lose his own stuff. It's been three. Freaking. Days. 

Stiles had nothing left to lose, that's it. His dad's gone, so is his life motive, his best friend, his support, _his hero_. Stiles spent his days lately on the same bed, crying. And when he's not doing that, he's passed out on the floor from a disabling panic attack. That one time where Stiles went to actually eat something was when he thought of a bowl of cereal for breakfast and sat down with it at the table. He went for an hour before realizing he never put anything in the the bowl. After a few minutes of a quiet, sad, sobbing, Stiles sat up right, tired of breathing in his own tears and saliva. He stared at the door, just praying that it would be his dad coming by and checking in. But that was never going to happen ever again.

Doesn't matter how loud he cried, or how hard he prayed, or how much he couldn't breathe.

Nothing could change it.

And just like that.

Within two weeks, Stiles Stilinski has died, _twice_ , and has come back to life _twice_ , and almost killed two of his favorite people, and in exchange lost his father.

Best two fucking weeks ever.

Derek rapped on the door, desperate for Stiles to let him in. He knows how it feels- to have no family left, he knows how bad it stings and how you don't want to believe and how you never get over it.

"Stiles. Can I- can I come in?"

No reply.

"Stiles-" Derek turned at the door knob and then stop when a smell had hit him. 

It smelled like misery and weakness. 

And then the man heard a thump. 

He opened the door- which was unlocked to his surprise- but only to find the teenager lying face down on the ground unconscious. Derek froze.

Immediately his heart purged, tendrils shot up his veins as he ran to the boy yelling for Melissa and Scott. "Stiles! Stiles-" Derek tapped on his cheeks, holding Stiles' head against his chest and rested his body on his lap.

"I got him some water." Scott came in with a glass behind Melissa as they analyzed Stiles, making sure he's alive. 

"Oh god you don't think he-" Melissa held her hand over her mouth, tracing his overly-pale features with her eyes. Derek shook his head, halting those intruding horrid thoughts. There's still a heart beat. That's good- and Derek couldn't smell drugs on him, no medication, no unknown substances. _Not an attempt _.__

__Just the smell of a malnourished boy who's punishing himself for his father's death._ _


	2. A Second Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. Not gonna lie, i sorta forgot i wrote this but i suppose i should start writing Stiles's battle story now. Let me remind you, chapter 1 and chapter 2 are two different events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any of the content, characters, plots or anything that belongs to Jeff Davis and teen wolf (copyrighted).

It's been 17 days.

408 hours.

24,480 minutes, since Noah Stilinski has died.

“Stiles?” Melissa pulled out the kitchen table chair across from where the teenager sat. He had a bowl of milk sitting in front of him. The cereal box was next to his hand, but failed to have put any inside it. He was staring out directly in front of him with a blank gaze. His red sweatshirt matched the color of rouge across his cheeks. He had been crying for a long time.

“You okay honey? You’re up so early.” Stiles had been staying at the McCalls since his home was going to be foreclosed next week. He hasn’t even started packing up things yet- Scott just grabbed all the clothes he usually wears and his personal items. And it isn’t to say that Stiles completely lost himself, for he held onto every fiber of his being. He kept himself bathed, he kept himself fed, and he even works out as a coping mechanism. But lately? Ever since the funeral- Stiles has been quiet. 

Of course it wouldn’t help out that he’s now an orphan and may have had a breakdown during his father’s funeral. He had gotten two sentences into his eulogy before storming off into an oxygen-lacking, tie-ripping, dress shirt tearing panic attack. 

He had been doing so good.

“Yeah- just couldn’t sleep..” Stiles murmured. 

Melissa glared at his bowl before reaching out for his hand, “hey.. I know we haven’t really… talked about it- because we wanted to give you some space.. But Stiles if you want to-”

“I'm fine.” He whispered quietly again, fingers twitching underneath her grasp. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you need help sweetheart-”

Stiles burst, “I don't need help!” He sent her a look then shamefully looked back down before breaking into a complete sob as he buried his face into his elbows. The sorry-filled cries made Melissa shoot up out of her chair and immediately found herself comforting the young man. 

“Shh… it’s okay baby, it's okay…” Melissa rubbed soothing circles on Stiles’ back as she held him tight, her cheek to his head when she whispered comfort. 

Stiles was shaking underneath her grasp, quivering with every shuddery breath he took. All the feelings he bottled up these last few days were just suddenly pouring out like the Niagara Falls. “It- h-hurts,” Stiles hiccupped in between cries, tears rolling down her cheek.  
“I know baby- I know.”

Hours passed by that morning. She helped Stiles go back to sleep, pulling him out of that hoodie that definitely needed a wash, and tucked him back into bed as she reassured him that when he wakes up, his heart will still beat. But what Melissa didn’t know that morning- was that Stiles never went back to sleep. Instead he cried, and cried, and cried, until he could no longer feel his heart and got so tired that he passed out. When he woke up, there was only one thing on his mind.

You did this stiles, You killed your dad. Good going, you’re barely-legal, not out of high school, and basically an alleged murderer. Mom would be so proud wouldn’t she?

Now, in no way or fault was it Stiles who lead his father to a death. Stiles could still remember getting called down to the office, seeing deputies and marshalls by the main door. He knew it was something bad. 

He was shot on duty, in the chest, they said. He was going to be okay, they said. 

They’ve brought him into surgery, they said. He suffered from a complication, they said.

14:02.

Time of Death.

Of course, Stiles didn’t feel death at that moment. No- it took nine whole days to get past the denial of “i’m fine.”

\--

“I’m going out.” Stiles said quietly, leaving the McCall residence for a few hours. But when Stiles didn’t show up for three hours, Melissa started to get worried. They had to give him space- yes, but not enough so that Stiles’ guilt would take over every fiber of his being. 

“Scott? Have you talked to Stiles?’

“He said a while ago he was back home finishing some stuff,” Scott answered with full discretion.

“By himself? it’s taking three hours? Is he even supposed to be in there since it’s technically the bank’s?”

Scott shook his head in bewilderment, no clue.

“He’s not answering any phone calls. C’mon. Let’s go,” Melissa literally dropped everything she was doing and started with a frantic push out the door. Scott wondered as to what had happened to make Melissa think Stiles was in danger.

When they got to the house, everything went downhill. It hit Scott, and then not too long after, Melissa. You didn’t need a werewolf nose to sniff out the heavy stench of pure liqeur alcohol floating around in the house. 

“Do you smell that?” Melissa scrunched her nose. Scott rose his eyebrows with a concern look as his lips trembled.

“No- Stiles wouldn’t..”

They called out his name over and over- but to their best effort, no answer.

Suddenly, Scott’s hand started to shake erratically. This wasn’t nerves or anxiety. No- they both knew what it meant.

Dashing to the young man’s room, a saddening sight was what their eyes had to feast upon when they opened the door to a frightening aroma of a bar. Even more frightening?

Stiles was face down on the floor, writhing as his body seized severely. 

“Oh my god! Scott call an ambulance now!”

Two slim, glass bottles were completely empty as they toppled over onto the ground. There was a large stain on the carpet produced by whatever the hell was left. The stench of pure liqueur and beer made Melissa want to throw up. She looked at the young man in shock, who was lying face-down on the ground unconscious. 

“Oh my god, oh my god-” Melissa was starting to cry as she tried to talk to him, “baby- Stiles honey- can you hear me?” She put her hand around his cheek. “Sweetie why did you do this..” Melissa whispered as her and Scott turned him over onto his back. She took two fingers to his neck, slow pulse. She put her ear to his chest. “He’s not breathing.” Melissa wiped at the corners of Stiles’ mouth that seemed to have drool plagued on them. A pungent scent of Stiles’ vomit was next to his head and on his shirt. The young man’s skin looked pale and of a deathly hue. 

“They’re on their way,” Scott informed the nurse as he inspected the alcoholic bottles next to poor Stiles. “Stiles would’ve never turned to drinking..” Scott claimed, knowing how awful it was to have an alcoholic father, and he felt the pain that Stiles had felt. They both swore to never become possessed by the devil’s poison because they were afraid of becoming something they did not want to be. 

“You think he did this to himself… because of his dad?” Melissa sniffled, trying not to cry as she pulled Stiles’ shirt off his warm body. She then started to apply compressions to his chest when Scott could hear his heartbeat slowing down.

“Mom-” Scott’s voice cracked. An immense feeling of guilt crashed over McCall like a tsunami. He was responsible for Stiles. He was depended on to make sure he came home safe from school and the gym. He was the one Stiles turned to when he just needed to cry. And the one time Scott doesn’t smother him? Stiles drinks himself to death. 

“He was doing so good honey- no one could have noticed,” Melissa defended him. She knew the distractions of working out constantly and focusing on schoolwork, and even some alone time, helped Stiles cope. “C’mon Stiles, wake up baby, you have to breathe okay?”

Baby. To her- Stiles was a second son, like Scott was to the sheriff.

One, two, one, two, she pushed down hard onto his chest until suddenly, Melissa could feel Stiles’ chest muscles strain and flex to the point where they stiffen up. Stiles’ hands clutched together into clenched fists as he let out a slight groan unconsciously.

Melissa backed up, quickly turning Stiles onto his side when she knew what was coming. 

“Stiles-” Scott knew it too; he felt it, he smelled it. It was the same scent that Erica used to be covered in before she was turned.

Without any warning, Stiles’ looked as if he were being electrocuted by an invisible taser, multiple spasms attacked his writhing body. Convulsing on the ground, “Honey you have to let him go through it- we can’t stop it,” Melissa held a hand over her mouth. Stiles let out more forced groans through his teeth when a mixture of blood and saliva dropped down his chin. He must’ve bit his tongue. His eyes were still closed shut, but his arms were vibrating on top of one another. Melissa and his best friend watched the troubled teen’s back arch as he let out a frightening slurring noise. His attempts for oxygen started to diminish as each inhale was followed by a struggling hiccup of his chest. His neck was drawn out long as if he were trying to look above him. After exactly a minute and twenty-nine seconds, the terrifying seizure started to die down, each limb spasm dying with a huff from Stiles until finally, he stopped all at once.

Without hesitation, Scott immediately went to his brother, holding his hand tightly so he could take all the pain away, as hard as it was. It was so cold. Melissa grabbed a washcloth and ringed it through with warm water. She placed it on his forehead hoping it would warm him up. Hair strands stuck to his clammy forehead as his chest rapidly inflated up and down. It wasn’t long until the paramedics came with their equipment bags and a gurney.

“Oh god was this the sheriff’s kid?” A young man said as he took Stiles” blood pressure. 

Melissa gave him a silent yes.

He’s had a seizure that lasted a minute and twenty-nine seconds, and we found him face down unconscious. It looked like alcohol poisoning due to the evidence and he had vomited on the floor. He was barely breathing the entire time and his body temperature was far too cold. Scott was listening in to the nurse explaining the situation to the man. 

“BP is 72 over 50 and dropping,” was the only thing Scott could hear in the chaos as a man was comforting him and walking out the front door. “Status is critical, Looks like severe alcoholic intoxication.”

Scott watched them load his best friend into the ambulance. They don’t know how much he drank but… it was a lot. Melissa was trying to stay professional and composed, but Scott was far from it. Scott started to feel a certain rage when he found himself standing in the halls of Beacon Hills Memorial. It wasn’t long until his hands were turned into fists as they met the white walls repeatedly until Melissa held him back. 

“It’s okay- he’s gonna be okay,” Melissa convinced her son as he cried on her shoulder.

“I was supposed- to- protect him-” Scott hiccupped.

“He was doing so good- nobody could have seen it coming.”

 

An hour later they were met by a doctor. “Ms. McCall, Stiles suffered from severe alcohol poisoning. His blood-alcohol count was skyrocketed. He suffered from two seizures, one after another, and had to be resuscitated. But- he’s stable now. He’s on an IV to help dehydration.” Melissa let out a relieved sigh. “We’re not gonna lie Melissa. You’re a nurse- you know how it is- but had you guys found him a few minutes later- he’d be dead.”

They waited two whole days before Stiles woke up from a mini coma.

“Stiles? Hey- can you hear me?” Melissa was right by his bedside as she poured a cup of water, watching Stiles nod and shift. “Hey- hey relax, it’s okay.” She said quietly. “You’re gonna be a bit dizzy and dehydrated for a while… do you remember what happened?” Melissa was trying so hard not to shake in nervousness as she put the cup to his mouth.

Stiles managed to give her a slight shake of the head, hating the feeling of all these artificial things attached to him.

“Stiles… you suffered from a seizure.. Two actually. We found you face down at your house with two bottles of alcoholic drinks empty. You’ve been out for almost three days.”

Stiles inhaled a sharp breath. A feeling of guilt threw him across a train track. He never meant for anything to happen. He just wanted to forget a little.

“Why’d you do it?.. You could’ve died Stiles.”

Stiles closed his eyes when she wrapped his hand around hers. 

“I thought that.. If I could forget.. It would make the pain go away.”


End file.
